Meditation
by TB's LMC
Summary: Kyrano's oldest and dearest friend needs help letting go of the love of his life, so Kyrano reaches him the only way he can. Written a LONG time ago, has been housed at the Tracy Island Chronicles.


_Summary: Kyrano's oldest and dearest friend needs help letting go of the love of his life, so Kyrano reaches him the only way he can._

_Author's Note: Written a LONG time ago, has been housed at the Tracy Island Chronicles._

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><p><strong>MEDITATION<strong>

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><p>It was so long ago.<p>

So very long ago that I met this man I now call friend. This man who has taken me into his life, into his home and into his family. This man who protects me. I see him now before me in such pain, but he will give no voice to that which he feels. It is not his way.

And yet I must help him. To force ignorance upon my mind for the sake of maintaining his hard-won dignity is to abandon all that I am, all that I know, all I can do. For I _can_ help him. And so now, I sit with him, yet not. Alone in this room, I see him in my mind. I pull him into this place as he sleeps. For now, he is aware. For now, he feels the pain. And I shall endeavor to remove that from his soul, to begin a cleansing process that, of necessity, cannot occur while he is awake.

For he does not believe.

I face his subconscious as we sit with legs crossed upon mats, eyes looking into eyes. His silence speaks to his confusion at being here with me like this. When he wakes, he will remember nothing. But within he will begin to feel the changes. I can feel my knees touching his knees, as though he were more than an apparition of himself, as though he were flesh and blood. This level, this plane upon which we meet, holds no falsehoods, yet it holds no reality save that of mind meeting mind.

I begin to hum softly, ancient words forming upon my lips as my mind rises higher and higher, beyond this elevation, beyond all that is physical, all that is experienced within the shell of the body. I feel his relaxation, I feel him give in as he can only in this place. Slowly I feel him rise above the chains that bind him to this Earth, I feel him letting go of things past and present, of fears and concerns, of life. Of death. At last he joins me here, and as my voice trails off into silence, I feel him with me, allowing himself the experience.

I reach into his mind, gently probing, requesting entrance. For one should never join another's mind without permission, as so oft is done by those with other purposes than I. He allows this intrusion, and as I search for that one true pain, that one moment which has caused him to close in on himself, I am surprised to find it so easily. In life, it is buried deep within him, but here in this place, it is not so locked away.

I hear the steady flow of air from our lungs, so improbable yet very real. My hands are held in front of me palm-to-palm; his, the same. His pain overpowers my mind...so much so that I almost cannot bear it. That he has carried this with him for so many years speaks to his strength. But the illusion of strength gained by burying ancient woes so deeply within oneself is truly no respite. For it will emerge, perhaps piece-by-piece, perhaps all at once. Either way, the results can be devastating.

This thing that my mind has brought forth now surrounds us both. I see his feelings mirrored on his face, that face which does so well hide what lies beneath in the world of reality. But here, I see everything within and without. Tears stream from his eyes, and I find my own cheeks moist. It is almost unbearable, this torturous remembrance, this recollection of one day...one day in which Jefferson Tracy's life went from being at the peak of perfection to the depths of despair.

It is Lucille. I had suspected as much. As I probe further into this memory, I discover that he has never properly dealt with her passing. It was too soon, too soon and far too painful. He buried it so deeply within him; it was the only way in which he could continue at the time, continue to exist, to survive. He closed himself down to those outside, including his five sons. He has loved her all this time...ah; I see wherein the true problem lies. The fact that he has not appropriately put Lucille to rest now haunts him. It haunts him because another has laid claim to his heart.

I reach out. Suddenly, I understand. My hand traces the side of his face as I wipe the tears away. Our eyes closed, concentration deep, I attempt to walk him through his past, to show him that all must happen as it happens, all must be as it is. There is a reason for everything that occurs, a purpose to those events that seem almost cruel in nature. I know of his pain, I have personal experience with losing a beloved. And so his pain awakens mine, and I find we reach a mutual level of understanding, both cradling those memories we hold so dear, yet can rarely pull forth because of the sheer weight of their being.

Suddenly we reach that moment, that moment of truth where all thoughts from the past converge upon that single event which changed everything forever. It hits him very, very hard...and by default, hits me as well. Her death. It is that day, the day it all changed for him. The day he lost Lucille. My hand moves down to grasp his, to give him a tangible object to hold to as he relives it so terribly. I am surprised when I feel his other hand grip my forearm tightly, painfully. We sit here, our minds connected, our hands offering what support can be offered.

At last, we emerge. I feel the pain begin to dissipate, the cloud begin to lift from his soul. I feel weak...so very weak. These things are draining upon the being, and I know I shall need time and space to recover from the experience. As I open my eyes, I notice our hands are now joined, and do not recall the moment at which we moved from the previous contact. He opens his eyes and together we rise to our feet. He lets go of my hands and wipes the remaining tears from his face. He is smiling at me, smiling in silent acknowledgement of what we have done here this night.

I move closer, my eyes never leaving his. I must seal the moment as per the tradition of my people; I must symbolically close the experience, thereby closing the open wound. And so I reach my hand to the back of his neck. He bows before me, and I place a kiss upon his forehead. Then he backs away, nods slightly, and is gone. I return to my mat, fold my legs, place my hands together and close my eyes. It is time for my recovery to begin. I smile as my thoughts begin to drift. Perhaps tomorrow I shall begin to see the change in Jeff. Tracy. He will never know why, if he notices at all.

But I will. And that is all that matters.


End file.
